This week has flown by faster than a toddler-thrown Tonka truck.
(Yes, I rather liked that, too. It was one of those great lines that came to me without warning. I believe us writers call that a "stroke of creativity". If I wasn't a writer I'd call it "brain on overdrive thanks to three large cups of coffee today". But whatever.)
Tuesday morning marked the last time I will do paid childcare. The last time. Ever. That's because I'm going to be a(n) (in)famous writer who makes gobs of moolah. I look forward to the day when I can say "I'm sorry, but I believe I'm a tad too rich to watch your children for money."
That will likely backfire on me as people start dropping their ankle-biters off for free. Then the sequel to my currently unwritten bestseller will also remain unwritten, and I will be poor.
And doing childcare.
I feel a little apprehensive about wealth-gloating now. When I do get rich, I shall try to remain humble in between naked frolicking sessions in the money room.
I figured I would have the rest of the week to start building wealth through the acquisition of writing contracts, but this fell to the wayside by Tuesday night when I was informed by an overwhelmed Intrepid that he wasn't quite done his International Fair project.
By "not quite done" he meant he still had about 40% of his writing to do followed by printing out good copies, making collages on bristol boards, finding Japanese articles to display, oh yeah, making enough ethnic food to feed around 500 people.
Did I mention the International Fair was on Thursday?
Panic.
Flashback: 1987
It's grade 6 and we're given a project to work on. We have to pick a country, do research on it, and present it at - you guessed it - an international fair.
I, being an eleven-year-old straight A student, guffawed at the idea of having to actually work on menial things like long term projects. I laughed in the face of organization. I snickered as my peers fretted over every little detail in April when we weren't presenting our countries until June. Kenya would wait for me while I rode my bike around a little more, right?
Reality struck three days before the project. I worked late into the night with very little help from my parents despite the constant complaining and crying. You'd think they were trying to teach me a lesson or something.
My project sucked and I was lucky to get a C-.
Good thing I wouldn't make that mistake again. Even better, I would be sure to pass my wisdom and new found sense of responsibility on to my children.
What a good mother I would be, leading my future family through past mistakes. As long as they didn't turn out like me, everything would be just fine!
(We're ending the flashback now. See the stars and curvy lines down there? Just making sure.)
The next two days are a bit of a blur. Buying bristol board. Staring longingly at my laptop as it gets overtaken for printing duty by moody pre-teen. Driving moody pre-teen's project partner to and from house. Lecturing a lot. Complaining a lot. Combining lecturing and complaining for interesting new parenting technique I have proudly named "Complecturing". Staying up until 1:30AM on eve of fair making rice and nori wraps while moody pre-teen conks out at 9:30PM.
Their project was - pun intended - fair. Intrepid and his partner did alright, but their lack of motivation toward the end did show in the presentation. I was a little disappointed, and more than a little frazzled by the effort I put into making sure they didn't completely fail.
I have no idea where these feelings came from.
... Nope. No idea.
Just when I was feeling like a hovering procrastination enabler, I walked around the fair (so I could compare my son's work to that of the rest of his peers), and ran straight into the Mexico Moms.
Most projects, even if well-done, were nothing compared to their table. Most kids had up a couple of posters, maybe a slideshow on a laptop or a nicely designed binder, a few artifacts from the country in question, and one or two dishes or drinks to sample. But the Mexican table took it to a whole new level; it was a fiesta for the senses.
Dozens of posters plastered the back wall behind a couple of large tables, which were filled with articles of clothing, toys, books, money, etc. Food? They had an entire meal prepared, including desert. "Would you like some rice pudding?" asked one of the moms as she approached me. "I made it last night. It's delicious! And would you like some of the cake? The other mom made it - it's her family's recipe from Mexico."
Mexico. Hmm. Imagine that.
The two girls who were technically doing the project sat behind the table looking a little bored as their mothers stood in front, chatting and answering questions.
I glanced over at Intrepid's "Japan" set-up and sighed. In comparison, it looked like a third world country.
Then, in my infinite wisdome, I looked beyond the surface and began to see what the International Fair was really all about: Learning about the countries? Hell, no. That's what Google is for. This went deeper than that. Mostly it was about figuring out how to work independently and as a team on a strict deadline.
When my son gets a project in the future, he'll hopefully know what to do with it. The Mexico Moms may very well end up doing their daughters' marketing presentations from the comfort of their assisted living residences.
So, in contrast, Geekster and I helping Intrepid make some sushi wasn't all that bad.
I think.
Maybe.
Pixie really enjoyed giving me a hard time about my hovering techniques over the last week. She reminded me of the post I wrote about her "son's" 100's Day project. She has gone so far as to draw a lot of comparisons in our parental enabling.
I beg to differ.
To prove it o her, I'm going to put up the old picture of her "helping" Archer put together his project (Where's Archer? At school, of course):
Just look at her doing all the work. It's disgusting.
And here I am this week making some sushi:
I see absolutely no resemblance.
(Yes, I rather liked that, too. It was one of those great lines that came to me without warning. I believe us writers call that a "stroke of creativity". If I wasn't a writer I'd call it "brain on overdrive thanks to three large cups of coffee today". But whatever.)
Tuesday morning marked the last time I will do paid childcare. The last time. Ever. That's because I'm going to be a(n) (in)famous writer who makes gobs of moolah. I look forward to the day when I can say "I'm sorry, but I believe I'm a tad too rich to watch your children for money."
That will likely backfire on me as people start dropping their ankle-biters off for free. Then the sequel to my currently unwritten bestseller will also remain unwritten, and I will be poor.
And doing childcare.
I feel a little apprehensive about wealth-gloating now. When I do get rich, I shall try to remain humble in between naked frolicking sessions in the money room.
I figured I would have the rest of the week to start building wealth through the acquisition of writing contracts, but this fell to the wayside by Tuesday night when I was informed by an overwhelmed Intrepid that he wasn't quite done his International Fair project.
By "not quite done" he meant he still had about 40% of his writing to do followed by printing out good copies, making collages on bristol boards, finding Japanese articles to display, oh yeah, making enough ethnic food to feed around 500 people.
Did I mention the International Fair was on Thursday?
Panic.
*~*~*
Flashback: 1987
It's grade 6 and we're given a project to work on. We have to pick a country, do research on it, and present it at - you guessed it - an international fair.
I, being an eleven-year-old straight A student, guffawed at the idea of having to actually work on menial things like long term projects. I laughed in the face of organization. I snickered as my peers fretted over every little detail in April when we weren't presenting our countries until June. Kenya would wait for me while I rode my bike around a little more, right?
Reality struck three days before the project. I worked late into the night with very little help from my parents despite the constant complaining and crying. You'd think they were trying to teach me a lesson or something.
My project sucked and I was lucky to get a C-.
Good thing I wouldn't make that mistake again. Even better, I would be sure to pass my wisdom and new found sense of responsibility on to my children.
What a good mother I would be, leading my future family through past mistakes. As long as they didn't turn out like me, everything would be just fine!
(We're ending the flashback now. See the stars and curvy lines down there? Just making sure.)
*~*~*
The next two days are a bit of a blur. Buying bristol board. Staring longingly at my laptop as it gets overtaken for printing duty by moody pre-teen. Driving moody pre-teen's project partner to and from house. Lecturing a lot. Complaining a lot. Combining lecturing and complaining for interesting new parenting technique I have proudly named "Complecturing". Staying up until 1:30AM on eve of fair making rice and nori wraps while moody pre-teen conks out at 9:30PM.
Their project was - pun intended - fair. Intrepid and his partner did alright, but their lack of motivation toward the end did show in the presentation. I was a little disappointed, and more than a little frazzled by the effort I put into making sure they didn't completely fail.
I have no idea where these feelings came from.
... Nope. No idea.
Just when I was feeling like a hovering procrastination enabler, I walked around the fair (so I could compare my son's work to that of the rest of his peers), and ran straight into the Mexico Moms.
Most projects, even if well-done, were nothing compared to their table. Most kids had up a couple of posters, maybe a slideshow on a laptop or a nicely designed binder, a few artifacts from the country in question, and one or two dishes or drinks to sample. But the Mexican table took it to a whole new level; it was a fiesta for the senses.
Dozens of posters plastered the back wall behind a couple of large tables, which were filled with articles of clothing, toys, books, money, etc. Food? They had an entire meal prepared, including desert. "Would you like some rice pudding?" asked one of the moms as she approached me. "I made it last night. It's delicious! And would you like some of the cake? The other mom made it - it's her family's recipe from Mexico."
Mexico. Hmm. Imagine that.
The two girls who were technically doing the project sat behind the table looking a little bored as their mothers stood in front, chatting and answering questions.
I glanced over at Intrepid's "Japan" set-up and sighed. In comparison, it looked like a third world country.
Then, in my infinite wisdome, I looked beyond the surface and began to see what the International Fair was really all about: Learning about the countries? Hell, no. That's what Google is for. This went deeper than that. Mostly it was about figuring out how to work independently and as a team on a strict deadline.
When my son gets a project in the future, he'll hopefully know what to do with it. The Mexico Moms may very well end up doing their daughters' marketing presentations from the comfort of their assisted living residences.
So, in contrast, Geekster and I helping Intrepid make some sushi wasn't all that bad.
I think.
Maybe.
Pixie really enjoyed giving me a hard time about my hovering techniques over the last week. She reminded me of the post I wrote about her "son's" 100's Day project. She has gone so far as to draw a lot of comparisons in our parental enabling.
I beg to differ.
To prove it o her, I'm going to put up the old picture of her "helping" Archer put together his project (Where's Archer? At school, of course):
Just look at her doing all the work. It's disgusting.
And here I am this week making some sushi:
I see absolutely no resemblance.
